Bloody in Love With You
by SubwayWolf
Summary: Stephen Merchant is acting unusually cross, and Ricky Gervais risks finding out why. Mild slash.


**Posted due to an anon's request. Enjoy!**

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><p>It was an unusually snowy day outside of Studio 32 in London. Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant walked side-by-side to their car, but weren't talking. On any other day, Ricky and Stephen would've been talking incesantly, but for some reason today wasn't one of those days. Having Karl Pilkington around was a lot to talk about, or to talk with. But Karl was in India, not in London. And quite frankly, Ricky and Stephen missed him.<p>

When Ricky and Stephen reached their car, Ricky got in the driver's seat. Typically, this would upset Stephen since Steve was always certain he was a much better driver than Rick, and Steve was right. Ricky waited for a reaction out of his friend, but no luck. Steve was too somber to argue.

Ricky refused to start the car, but Steve didn't notice, just put his head in his hand and stared out the window.

Ricky looked at Stephen, studying him. Merchant looked exhausted and beat. Ricky didn't know what was wrong, and decided to get to the bottom of it. "You like Karl, right?"

Stephen didn't even make eye contact. "Yeah, he's my mate."

"And you're _this_ upset about him being gone?"

Steve took a moment to react. He turned and glared at Ricky. "Karl! I'm not upset about Karl! You moron!"

Gervais was fully confused now. He frowned, defeated. He couldn't believe how bad of a slump his friend was in. "Well… then tell me the real reason why."

Stephen let out a moan out of annoyance. "What do you mean, 'why'? 'Why' what? And start the car already."

Ricky demanded, "No, I'm not starting the car until you quit your _whinging _and tell me why you're so upset today." He immediately wondered if that statement would make Steve angrier than before…if Steve was even angry. Maybe he was just sad, depressed even. No matter what the reason, Ricky had to get to the bottom of it before Steve exploded.

"Piss off, Ricky," Steve said into his hand. Instantly after it sipped his tongue, he took a worried glance at Ricky to make sure he didn't hurt his feelings. But in a split second, the look of concern disappeared and Steve stared back out the window again.

Ricky saw the look and knew what it meant, but he chose to ignore it. "But you're my best friend, Steve," he whispered. "You can tell me about it. It's okay."

And that's when Stephen exploded. He spun around in his seat and got in Ricky's face, hands flailing about everywhere as he screamed, "No! Karl is your best friend! You take him out to dinner and laugh with him and call him on the phone! You refer to him as your 'gift to the world'. Oh, well what does that make me then? I'm just the bloke whose name is _after_ 'Ricky Gervais' in every single bloody thing we do together. I work my ass off writing and directing and then you show up at noon and say 'alright' and leave an hour later. And you're getting paid way much more than I am. And then, one thing I do on my own – ONE bloody thing, and you don't even bother seeing it. But if Karl were playing 'man in crowd #48' you'd see the film the day it came out. Karl is your best friend, Ricky, don't convince me otherwise. Since we met him, you've gotten further away from me. I'm not ignoring it anymore. I'm not fucking ignoring it."

Ricky froze in fear. Was this really how Steve felt? And why was he saying all this today? He prayed that Steve's spasmodic rage wasn't real. But that was a long shot. Whenever Steve lost control, he meant it. He was always a very calm person, and seeing this breach in his façade was frightening.

The two sat in silence for another eternity. Ricky was unhappy with this sudden deadlock, and pondered possibilities. Stephen turned to face the window again and took a breath to calm himself.

And then it hit Ricky like an out-of-control lorry. "Oh, Steve. Happy birthday, mate."

Steve, still irate, sat still and attempted to cool off. "Bullocks."

Ricky was feeling a sharp, twisting pain in his stomach. Guilt. "Steve, you've got a right to be upset. I'm sorry, I really am. Now man up, accept my apology, and let's go get a drink."

Stephen continued to puss out. "No! I want to go home."

"Stephen James Merchant…it's your birthday. We're going to the pub. No way you're getting out of it, mate. Sorry." Ricky shrugged nonchalantly, throwing his hands up in the air.

Steve snarled, "Richard, don't bloody start with me."

Ricky knew that when Steve called him "Richard", he meant business. But Ricky decided to respond anyway. "There's no way I'm starting this car."

Steve grabbed at the keys but Ricky pulled them away just out of Steve's reach and giggled. Steve wasn't as amused. He got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Ricky, surprised, scrambled out of his seat as well, going after his friend.

Once Ricky started to catch up to his friend, he was alarmed, as there was only one car in the parking lot besides Ricky's, and the unoccupied one wasn't Steve's either. "Steve! Where the hell are you going?"

Steve shouted back, "Away from you!"

"Nice comeback," Ricky said, but didn't mean it. He was struggling to keep up with his long-legged and faster-paced friend, so he took the risk and started to pick up his pace, yet continued to admonish the cumbersome Steve. "I'm starting to run, mate! My asthma symptoms will start acting up!"

Steve replied, "You don't even have asthma, you imbecile!"

Already out of breath, Ricky replied, "Exactly!"

After a few more meters, Stephen stopped in his tracks. He sulked over to a street light and sat on the cement block that held it up. When Ricky caught up, he hopped onto the seat and took a minute to catch his breath, his feet hanging off the edge.

Ricky eventually brought himself to talking. "Do you want to tell me now?"

Stephen rolled his eyes and crossed his arms childishly, refusing to share what was on his secretive, genius little mind.

The two sat there, in silence yet again. Ricky knew he wasn't going to get any sort of response. Stephen stared at the pavement and Ricky stared at Steve. It was unlike Ricky to not have something to say. Even in the most stressful of moments, Rick was quick to come up with something. But today, being different, was not one of the usual times. So he sat in silence, thinking of what to say.

Ricky was confused at himself. It wasn't like him to be genuinely worried about someone other than himself. Typically he didn't care, didn't care enough to neither ask about it nor console the other person. Ricky wasn't completely sure why this current situation with Merchant was an exception. What was so special about Steve that made Ricky care this much about him? Ricky ultimately decided he couldn't be bothered knowing and just went along with what was already happened, deciding to finish what he had blindly started.

"You know what?" Ricky asked rhetorically. "I don't give a shit anymore. I don't care why you're upset. I just care _that_ you're upset. And I don't want you to be upset. I love you, mate, you know that!"

Stephen made eye contact with Gervais for the first time since the production meeting that occurred nine hours earlier that day. Steve stared a few seconds too long, making Ricky significantly uncomfortable; so uncomfortable that Ricky wanted to look away but knew he shouldn't because it might tick Stephen off. So instead he just stared awkwardly into Steve's wincing, blue eyes because really, Ricky didn't know what else to do but that.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Steve bit his lip, furrowed his brow, and Ricky watched as tears began to swell up in his eyes, burning them red. And then Stephen was holding his face in his hands and sobbing into his knees.

Ricky had no idea what was happening or why. More importantly, he had no idea how to stop it. "Steve," he said softly; so softly that he wasn't even sure if Steve had heard him or if he was even speaking at all. "It's okay, mate."

Steve was probably crying too hard to hear the words being spoken to him. Ricky awkwardly put an arm around his lanky friend, trying his best to comfort him. He felt the sobs racking against Steve, heard the whimpers out of his mouth, and smelled the salt of his tears and the sweat on his shirt. Ricky brought his hand up to his mate's hair, putting his fingers through the sweaty pile of blonde twine and for some reason began to finger through it.

After about five seconds of hair-petting, Stephen sat up and gave Ricky a "what the hell are you doing" type look with an eyebrow raised and a sideways frown on his face. Ricky, embarrassed, took down his hand and shrugged in a "what do you want from me" kind of way.

But Ricky's playfulness turned dismal when he saw the red eyes of his mate. Stephen hadn't cried in front of Ricky since BBC picked up "The Office", and those were tears of joy so they didn't really count.

Ricky watched in his peripheral vision as Steve sniffled, his nose red as well, and brought his hand up to his eyes to bat the tears away. A new emotion arose in Ricky's gut, and he wasn't sure if it was a continuation of the guilt or if it were hunger. Ricky wasn't sure and he tried to forget about it, he had more to think about.

Clouds of cold air poured through the noses of the two and there was a bit of snow that sat on Steve's blue, long-sleeved shirt and a little bit was in his hair too, so Ricky brushed it off for him, half-smiling.

Steve rested his head on Ricky's shoulder, squeezing out the last of the tears behind his eyes, wetting Ricky's shirt. Ricky found this whole situation strange and kind of scary. Steve wasn't acting very normal. Ricky decided to go with the flow and not freak out, or at least not physically; just mentally.

Ricky realized the two of them hadn't brought coats. Maybe Ricky did notice, just knew that Steve was more important to him than comfort or the risk of getting hypothermia. Steve was Ricky's best friend even if Steve himself didn't buy it. And Ricky had to make that clear.

As Ricky watched cloudy breath escape from his parted lips, Steve lifted his head from Gervais' shoulder and finally spoke. Steve asked, "Rick, can I tell you something?"

"It's about bloody time!" Ricky smiled. "Shoot, mate."

Steve didn't smile back. There was a thick anxiety in his eyes. He took a deep breath. "I love you, Ricky."

Ricky was taken aback. At this point, he couldn't look Steve in the eye anymore. He fidgeted in his seat, shifting his body a little bit further away from where Steve was. "You've got to be fucking joking…"

Steve ignored him and pretended not to notice Ricky's movement, although his vacillating eyes showed he was obviously hurt by both. He caught himself. "And I don't mean 'love' as in you're my best friend, though you are. I mean 'love' as in I'm bloody in love with you."

Ricky mumbled, "What the fuck, Steve? You're freaking me out, mate. Stop it, it's weird."

Steve was on a roll; he wasn't going to stop there. He continued sharply as if he wanted to get it out of the way. "Ricky, since we met and became friends, I've been extremely attracted to you. It took me numerous years and countless hours spent with you to realize it, but I've come to the estranged conclusion that I'm completely in love with you, Ricky Gervais."

Ricky bit his tongue.

Steve continued, "Previously in our conversation you said two words: 'man up'. And that's what I'm doing now, manning up. Telling you the truth, the secret I've kept for so many years. I wasn't upset because you forgot my birthday – this is the second year you had in a row. I was upset because I heard you talking to Karl on the phone earlier and you were having a laugh and you said that you missed him and you were so jealous of him and that he's your best friend and you'd never let anything happen to him. You've never said that to me, Ricky. Never in so many years."

Ricky had forgotten to breathe. He took a breath, slowly, cautiously, staring through the foggy frames Steve's glasses and waiting for him to continue.

Steve did continue. "And that really hurts me, really hurts me that we've been through so much together, so bloody much, and you've never even told me that you love me or you care about me…and just now, just then you did. And I lost it, Ricky, I'd never think I'd hear that from you in a million years, until after I died or if you were desperate or something. I lost it because I was in love with you and I knew I couldn't tell you, but bloody hell I'm here now aren't I? I'm here now, ruining our friendship. You hate me now, and I'm bloody in love with you. Great. Do you know what I-"

Ricky didn't want to hear any of it. He grabbed Stephen's face to his and kissed him right on the lips, shutting him up.

Steve was scared at first and kept his eyes open, staring into the worried and also open eyes of Ricky. And they stared at each other for a few more seconds, Steve's blue eyes filled with surprise and Ricky's hazel eyes filled with fear.

But it only took a few seconds until Steve relaxed into the kiss, snogging him back; his eyes fluttering shut with pleasure and Ricky's eyes closing as well, relieved. Steve brought his hands up to Ricky's soft, maroon hair. Ricky kept his hands around Stephen's head, brushing through Steve's hair with his fingers and feeling Merchant's prickly beard with his thumbs.

It was a long-awaited moment. Ricky had always dreamed of it happening but denied it constantly; he had been with Jane for what, 30 years now? Ricky was almost positive he was in love with her so in result always repudiated himself whenever he thought Steve looked dashing or had a great smile or looked cute with a beard. Ricky ignored the brief fantasies that came to mind whenever Steve would touch him playfully or compliment him. Ricky would pretend that none of it ever happened.

Stephen wasn't the greatest kisser in the world but then again neither was Ricky. They were both amateur, middle-aged men. But they were going to get better with some practice.


End file.
